


Short pieces of a fractured universe

by Usernamesarehardtocomeby



Category: None - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 07:41:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26349535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usernamesarehardtocomeby/pseuds/Usernamesarehardtocomeby
Summary: Just a small thing from a book i plan to write
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	1. Creations chess set and the games played by no one

It is a joke of sorts, the god playing chess, the incomprehensible using something created by lesser beings to pass time, but jokes grow stale, and gods diminish to nothingness, to statues floating in the only place safe from the very things that can nullify a god. 

The world is in constant chaos, the universe is as well, everything is constantly changing, happening, it is not a game, but it can be played as such, to move, shift, place, take, it can all be viewed as a game of chess. The thing no one can see but can see all moves pieces mindlessly, reenacting move after move, date after date, as time marches slowly forwards, drawing crowds of forgotten things to join in the march.. 

But she is dead now, the thing that evened out turned tides and balanced the things once deemed too chaotic to possibly control, immortalized far beyond the realm of what is and what isn't. 

But now it is an ever changing game, war, event, celebration, funeral, ever changing ever shifting, never to find peace or quiet breath of calm. The shattered fractures of blood move aimlessly, the pitch of the stars countering each move without emotion. 

It is a red chess set, it is filled with things created and things destroyed, it is the last thing carried by the god who uses nothingness to create everything. That which moves piece after piece until the world does finally end. 

After all, it was quite the joke to make.


	2. lets try to give character to the impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it is short, bitter, and makes no sense

ah, there is something refreshing about creating someting from ash, thinks the first, looking out on the war torn word that simply cannot mend itself. it smiles, the thing too big to be named, the first, the creation born of empty space, looking out with eyes that do not exist but still see at the descruction it sews into the fabric the third weaves like spiders spinning silk. the second does not smile, and third does not talk, but Creation does, Creation laughs, and enjoys what it has made, what the small bipeds made to look like fools have done with reality, with What It Is, and with What You Are.. ah but the second simply hums her tune from the edge of what is perfected, slowly but surley balancing out the war torn things and broken toys of those who sit and laugh and watch, and she smiles at the details in the plans of many and the simplcity of the world at large, at what has been abandoned and what has been revealed..

they are not gods, have not been since the very beginning, now torn and taken apart, never to be realized as a whole again, they are not gods, but they are still here- but there is one less amoung them now.. and the name is lost to history, but she is there, at the edge of what is perfected, veins filled with stone, pummping ash to heart frozen in time, holding all the stars made by a lover, a friend, she sits, humming her tune, forever and always, while the world rages on.

she was not always dead, the one whos identity has been swallowed by time, but death is a simple term, and it is impossible to die is one was never born. stability, it whispers, longing for a future never to be true, oh stability, how the world longs to see you my dear.. and the soft shift of stone responds in kind, whispering for a life that never existed from cold and unmoving lips.

it was cold, the day they lost her, but it is forever cold in the crevaces beyond what is known, and they do not shiver, and they do not cry from the eyes that are not seen and do not exist, but they remember, and memory is misery enough. it was cold, but she did not feel it, only the twitch of cold stone turning nimble fingers to static bleakness, she smiled that day, enjoying her lover while the stone creeps on, watching as world are born of dust and nothingness, and destroyed by those same peices of broken parts moments after. trying not to fear too much the departure she now faces, wishing for one last smile from Creation as her eyes close permenatly, weeping from behind that cracked shell, that cacoon that waits for time to finally stop its merry march towards the end that waits for everyone. 

oh stability, it calls, fitting stars like offerings around her, how i miss the days when you were still here.. how i miss your smile at my work, at the stars that circle you now, do you like them?

her dresses, once that warm muted desert sunset, coated in the dust the floats around stars, her hair, once that color you see only from the beach at dawn, now stiff and grey, skin now cold, eyes now turned to dust behind closed lids, they warp and wrap around the fabric of the everything that is truly nothing in the end, they collect dust in a place devoid of stone and age, she collects dust and tears and visits. waiting for something that will not happen, waiting for a death that cannot touch her, for a kiss that will never reach her inside that shell of stone and tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes there are several gods, no i dont know why


	3. but first! titles n stuff because its confusing and im sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> who they are

Just so you can keep up (:

(formal name: casual/what they call themselves(and what it is most of the time)(other names via the foolish bipeds)

Absence: despair(sinking dread, mourn for something unattainable, that which is void of hope)  
Tips The Scales: serendipity(misfortune, it is unfixable, she who causes misery)  
It Fills You: captain(restless, unsung horrors, it rages through you)  
Lost: sailor(things misplaced finally found, stealer of dreams, it is not yours)  
Weaver Of Souls: the fates(future past, mother of plots, that which pulls strings)  
I Am The Stars: creation(chaos, order, it brings life, the great destroyer)  
It Is You: soul(i am what you are now, keeper of life, she who remembers)  
Equilibrium: stability(balance, she who evens out, keeper of the tides)  
Nothing: portmaster(it fills space, old woman silence, that which has come before)  
Inevitably: death(the shade, the unforgiving, the reaper)  
The Wild: the unseeables(changers of fate, wild things, it cares little for you)  
What It Is: reality(the twisting fabric, what is and what isn't, keeper of time)  
Rebirth: rebirth

Nobody(abandoned reality, that which hides)  
Fear(it sees you, bringer of madness)  
The False Prophet(tragedy, killer of stars)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the godnts simply vibe


	4. What is forgotten and faded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The godnts have no welcome mat to welcome them back

“What am i to you?” it asked humanity, the only thing seen the flash of its cruel smile from above the heavens.  
“God.” they replied, foolish and afraid.  
It smiled wider, wider than any one of them could perceive, “you are wrong but not incorrect.”  
They whimpered, those dregs of hope and bravery, “how?”  
“God is something feasible and alive. We are neither.”  
And they stood there, glancing to the heavens with something akin to confusion, waiting for an answer that would not come.

“Do I frighten you?” it asked humanity, an eye as big as the earth itself blinking down to the small mortals.  
“No.” they replied, fearful and nervous.  
It simply laughed, shaking the very earth they resided on, throwing them into chaos, “you are fools.”  
And they nodded, accepting, “how can you tell?”  
“I have brothers and sisters and things you would call either sent to watch. And we have seen so much.”  
They looked around, afraid, but not unfamiliar, as eyes and smiles watched from the details in a moths wings, from the eyes of the ants they crush beneath their feet, waiting for something to make itself known, something that was not as foolish as those who ask the sky to stop its blueness.

“Do you remember me?” it asked, smaller now, less important, wandering the streets of their cities in smaller forms.  
“No.” they replied, passing it by without a second thought.  
It frowned, for once in its presence here, it simply sighed, reaching for the stars now blotted out by lights of their own, “you are forgetful in your growing age.”  
They shrugged, “how would you know?”  
“I was once here. I once saw. I was once so much bigger than you.”  
And they stood there, wincing with the discomfort of knowing something is truth, but believing it should be impossible, waiting for an elaboration of sorts. Waiting for the thing they once called god to answer for its crimes, for its mistakes, but it was already too faded to truly speak with its own mouth, to spin tales and truth with hands now too fragile to mold a mind to its ideals, to ask one more question that would bring their sights to the sky above, to the void above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Awaiting the familair call of someone as far gone as itself?)

**Author's Note:**

> Next up is some world building and also lesbians


End file.
